A Shattered Mirror
by Legend2
Summary: She had endured the Wastelands most punishing tests, staying true to convictions that would get another person killed. Would this be the horror that finally breaks her?


Amalthea, what a name she thought. Her father and mother came up with it and she had no clue as to where and when it came from. Dad never really gave any history although to her it sounded old. Maybe Pre-War she wasn't sure. Nevertheless she did like it however on a case like this, especially coming from Bigsley, she wasn't adamant about it. He was selfish, egotistical scribe from hell. She would do a better job than him maintaining the Purifier. She even hinted it to Owen, telling him she could manage but he told her no. "Your duty is to the men and women of the Brotherhood not babysitting the purifier," he remarked, "it's your fathers work but the brothers and sisters of the citadel need you here more now that our skirmish with the Super Mutants is becoming an all out brawl."

It was true things were escalating in the DC ruins beyond what she expected. Apparently Super Mutant activity was on the rise. It even got as bad as to have Three Dog relocate the GNR Garrison to Underworld. He wasn't happy with it but what else could be done. The Ghouls weren't jumping for joy either but at least they had the garrison to make sure no one molested them. That and Amalthea personally made sure the BOS didn't give Underworld to much grief; the old Lincoln exhibit was cleaned out and made into the new GNR Outpost. At least Three Dog's attitude improved with that; the section had some good equipment and much to his surprise a functioning satellite radio. People as far as Point Lookout could hear him. Still the northern part of the DC ruins was in Super Mutant hands now.

"Don't think we're on the retreat," Rothchild told her, "if anything this is more a redeployment. Work on Liberty Avenged is almost complete. The Super Mutants are going to have one big surprise very soon."

Big was and understatement for the new Liberty Avenged, second prototype of Liberty Prime. Using parts from the now derelict Mobile Base, Rothchild increased Prime's armament, gave him wrist mounted nukes instead of back-pack types and managed to give him photonic shielding. He was a walking nightmare now, bristling with weaponry and damn near impossible to stop. Amalthea wasn't even sure a planetary bombardment could kill him now.

Still Elder Lyons made it clear to her she was still needed; The Lone Wanderer was their troops primary moral booster aside from Lyon's Pride and Sarah. Amalthea still remembered the day she was allowed into the Citadel, all Paladins and Knights looked at her as if a radscorpion had walked in. Now days, they all stop and stare in awe as if an angel walked past them. She could hear them whispering, "there she is," "legendary" and, "wonder if Elder Lyons would let me ask her out." It was for good reason usually. After the Enclave were defeated Amalthea had little reason to be decked in full Brotherhood Power Armor. Instead she opted for something more comfortable. It was true it was rather revealing, her cleavage being the most prominent, but working in a lab wearing clunky power armor or a scribe uniform just didn't suit her and most of the soldiers seemed to enjoy her presence even if it was a chance drool. That and she had grown tired of fighting and voted to help the Scribes more with equipment, finding lost journals and hacking old Vault-Tec computers for information. The soldier in her was long dormant, replaced with an academic. Course that was what she was all the time any ways; she was a real daddy's girl. Reason she had interest in keeping the Purifier running smoothly. Today though wasn't a day she admired.

"These blasted scientists are always complaining about something," Bigsley fumed, "now they want someone to do clean up to!" Amalthea had learned to appreciate patience but even with Bigsley it was starting to become stressed. The only other person who aggravated her more was Sticky from Bigtown when she had to escort him there. Lucky for him she was amazingly patient and simply ignored him while he ranted about how long it was taking. She had gotten word that someone had shot him and wondered if it was a Super Mutant or had Red actually got fed up with him.

"You know Bigsley," she remarked, "do you ever think that you're the reason why Owen never visits?" Bigsley scowled and gave her a sour look.

"If only your gun was as fast as your mouth," he shot back. Amalthea snickered as she ran over the figures on the data sheet. Operating at 77% efficiency, pressure was 58.99%. She didn't understand how the scientists and Bigsley couldn't see it when the problem was as clear as day; something was stuck in one of the main ballast intake pipes. Reason why the flow was being backed up. She guessed that it being her fathers project the whole mechanism went way over their heads.

"Someone needs to check the intake pipes from the primary ballast tanks," she said, "there's a lot of junk in the river so whatever it has the bypass valve eating up conditioning cycles in the filter housing." Bigsley rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shook his head.

"Ohhh, is that all," he said sarcastically, "and here I am thinking I pushed the wrong button again!" Amalthea rolled eyes and scowled at him. He again gave the tired, heavy lidded look that almost made her want to punch him.

"Could you please talk in a way that doesn't make me sound inferior to you're oh so overwhelming intellect," he seethed.

"Oh for Heaven's sake," she replied, "we need to clean the filter's from the intake pipes you-" She stopped just short of cursing at him. She had never cursed and never would. Only one time she let it slip and that was when she met Willow outside of Underworld. The Ghoul looked like she appeared out of thin air.

"Yes?" Bigsley proclaimed, "you were going to call me something?"

"Nevermind," she said handing him the clipboard, "just get over to the terminal, put in code 7-8-9-9-5-8 and hit enter. It'll back track the water intake and flush out whatever is preventing the flow." Bigsley threw up his arms in defeat and nodded his head.

"Fine, whatever," he croaked and walked away.

"I'll stay down here and figure out what it is," she replied. Bigsley dragged himself into the Purifier control room and glowered at the control console. He mulled over the code in his mind again and shook his head in disgust.

"What was the code again?!" He yelled. At first there was silence then.

"…..7-8-9-9-5-8 Bigsley," Amalthea yelled back clearly annoyed. Bigsley sighed, punched in the numbered sequence and hit the enter key. The purifier let out a ragged whine then the sound of the pumps back tracking filled the air as it kicked in it's automatic servo's and started pumping full speed again. Bigsley let out a chuckle despite himself.

"Well, that went better than I thought," he said, "how about we cel-" His words were cut short as the only thing filling his ears was a terrible high pitch scream coming from her direction. Rushing down he discovered Amalthea huddled in a corner hugging her knees, letting out whimpered screams of terror. Bigsley looked to the water in the distribution pool to discover to his horror a body, a faint 101 on its back and a trade mark Pipboy on its left wrist. He didn't need to guess on who it may be.

"She's been badly traumatized," Rothchild replied, "physically she's fine. Mentally, I don't know."

Elder Lyons brooded over the news. When they had discovered James' body in the purifier he was appalled the Enclave would just stuff his corpse into an intake valve like some left over piece of toilet paper. His heart sunk however when he found it had been Amalthea to be the first to behold the grizzly sight. Bigsley reported she would do nothing but huddle in a corner of the room, shaking uncontrollably while Scribes carried out James' body. Amalthea looked like she had seen the devil himself. It had to take Fawkes to finally lift her bodily and take her to the Citadel, she refused to move on her own. The friendly Super Mutant stood vigil outside the medic ward, clearly concerned at the state of his comrade. Fawkes stated on the way to the Citadel she held him in a vise-like grip, screaming over and over again, "daddy!"

Scribe Jameson had been the first run a make shift autopsy and it was in fact James. The Gene projector made a positive DNA sequence. Owen wasn't sure what to do from then on. He had seen many soldier experience shell shock in the field but they got over it within a few hours. Amalthea had been like this for nearly 2 days. Rothchild had to start giving her intravenous fluids because she refused to eat anything.

"Is there anything we can do for her?" Elder Lyons asked. Rothchild shook his head in defeat.

"I'm a field medic Lyons," Rothchild replied, "which is mainly about patching holes. This type of thing there is little I can do. Shell shock can last from between 20 hours to 20 years depending on the amount of mental trauma." Owen pursed his lips and looked at the young hero with deep sadness etched his face. Amalthea had literally become a second daughter to him. To see her like this made his old heart skip a beat. Shaking his head in defeat, he sighed wearily.

"Survived being run out of Vault 101, faced the worst the Wasteland could throw at her, stayed true to her convictions not to kill another person no matter how evil and finally helped bring a crushing defeat to the Enclave," Owen reminisced as he stared at her shocked expression, "to have endured and survived so much only to be broken at the sight of her fathers shattered corpse." He put a hand on her trembling shoulder.

"It is indeed a sad day for the Brotherhood," Elder Lyons resigned.

"Welcome to Megaton," Lucas Simms replied to the new comer, "I'll tell you as I tell all the fresh meat in the Wasteland; keep your nose clean."

"Right of course my good man," said the oddly well dressed man, "I'm not a person of violence so no worries."

"Where you from?" Lucas asked. The man took off his hat in greeting.

"Name is Doctor Frederick D. Powlence," he replied, "used to live in the Commonwealth but I've had enough of the Institute as it were." Lucas smiled despite himself.

"Friendly, well-mannered and a doctor no less," he replied, "Old Doc Church will appreciate the help from a new set of hands."

"I am quite versed in being a field medic," Frederick replied, "not my specialty though."

"Oh? What is?" Lucas asked.

"A rare field in this day and age," Powlence remarked, "I'm a psychiatrist." Lucas gave him an odd look, clearly confused. Powlence only smiled.

"I help people with problems of the mind," the doctor re-iterated.

"Oh, um okay, well you're still handy with a scalpel right?" Simms asked. Frederick chuckled meaningfully and nodded.

"Quite so Sheriff," he replied, "how can I be of service?"


End file.
